starsmisalign (starsmisalign) wrote in birthrightrpg, @ 2020-09-05 18:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | celeste henry, ~phanuel |
A Big Ask
Who: Phanuel, Celeste
What: A favor
Where: Searchlight
When: Present
Ratings/Warnings: Low
Celeste was crouched down, visually examining the seedlings closely. She hadn’t seen plants like these before in her entire life, and she was intrigued. Using a gentle finger, the brunette prodded one of the buds. She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but she thought she could hear a low, buzzy hum emitting from the ground. Celeste squinted her eyes and tilted her ear toward the ground.
A moment passed before she remembered why she had ventured to Phanuel’s trailer in the first place. The young woman stood, brushing her hands against her shorts and approached the door of the double wide. Celeste noticed one of the windows propped slightly open and peeked inside, before emitting a trilling whistle, playfully curious as to what the Angel’s reaction would be.
’Could have been the whiskey, might have been the gin.
Could have been three or four six-packs,
I don't know, but look at the mess I'm in,
My head is like a football, I think I'm gonna die,
Tell me, me oh me oh my,
Wasn't that a party?
Someone took a grapefruit and wore it like a hat,
I saw someone under my kitchen table, talking to my old tom cat,
They were talking about hockey and the cat was talkin' back,
Along about then everything went black,
But wasn't that a party?
I'm sure it's just my memory playin' tricks on me,
But I think I saw my buddy cuttin' down my neighbour's tree’
Hangovers weren’t supposed to last a week. Yet here she was, still drained and fuzzy-headed from her night in Las Vegas. Phanuel had a vague recollection of running around with a dorsal fin on her head… no, that couldn’t be right.
Fweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!
The shrill tweet cut through the fog and rattled the Angel’s brain. “Jesus, that better be Gabriel’s trumpet,” she groused. “Otherwise, I’m sending whoever that is to meet him.”
Phanuel stomped to the screen door and peered out. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, showing up at--” she checked the clock on the wall. “--a reasonable time of day.”
“I saw your little photoshoot,” Celeste answered sunnily, moving toward the door with a smile. “I would have come sooner, but this took me a few days to perfect.” The brunette pulled an aluminum water bottle out of her bag and shook it, the quiet sound of liquid sloshing.
“It’s prickly pear, willow and ginger root extract plus...a little something special.” Celeste held it out to the other woman. “You’ll thank me after you drink it. Trust me.”
“Photoshoot?” The Angel was at a loss.
She opened the screen door and stepped out. Phanuel’s hair sat flat upon her head, strands hanging down the sides. Her dress sense suffered as much as her hangover did; pajama pants, wings taped to her back, and a cardigan pulled loosely around her slender frame. Some would argue it was too hot for such a garment; Phanuel simply didn’t care. She needed comfort wherever she could find it.
“What do I do, drink this or dump it over my head?”
Celeste took in the state of Phanuel with surprise. She knew the Angel liked to imbibe, but things were looking rough. “Well,” she answered, an eyebrow quirked, “you drink it, like I said a few seconds ago.”
The brunette dug out her phone and brought up the photo of her and Rhiannon, raising it to show the blond woman.
“Right. You did say drink.” The pain behind her eyes was even heavier now that she was out of the trailer and in the midday sun. She squinted at the photo of herself and Rhiannon, both seated on the floor of the Golden Nugget Casino. “Wha--?” She didn’t remember taking a picture, and she certainly didn’t see any cameras. Just the hunter’s cell phone. “Wait, can you take photos with these now?” she queried.
Phanuel accepted the silver bottle and unscrewed the top, downing the contents faster than W.C. Fields at an all-you-can-drink buffet. True to the woman’s word, the Angel did feel slightly better after swallowing the contents. “Thank you, Henry. Do I want to know the ‘something extra’?”
“Oh, yeah,” Celeste responded, nodding her head. “You can do anything with these. You can even get the whole Bible on them, if you wanted.” She shrugged and put the device away. She scrutinized Phanuel even further, some form of intuition pinging inside her, but she couldn’t pinpoint it. She resisted the urge to place the back of her hand against the Angel’s forehead to check her temperature.
“Why don’t we go inside? I don’t think the sun is doing you any favors.” Then she grinned in a slightly giddy fashion. “It’s magic. The secret ingredient is magic.”
“Yeah, I need sunglasses,” she muttered. Which was an odd thing for the blonde to say, as she had perfect vision and was quite used to bright lights. Phanuel turned to re-enter the trailer, keeping one hand on the screen door to allow her guest entry.
“‘S a mit of a bess… I mean, a bit of a mess. Careful you don’t slip on the magazines on the floor.”
Celeste followed Phanuel inside, shutting the door courteously behind her. She spied a chair and nodded toward it. “Why don’t you sit?” she half asked, half directed. Her attention was pulled over to the kitchen area. Making herself immediately at home, the brunette took charge, grabbing a dish towel and running it under cool tap water before ringing it out.
The brunette brought the cloth over to the blonde. “Put this on your forehead.”
“Hey look, I have dish towels.”
Phanuel placed it on her forehead as instructed. The cool, damp cloth provided a sense of calm in the raging storm that was the blonde’s head. Millenia of drinking and she was done in by a night of vodka and shots. It didn’t make sense.
“What brings you by? Other than that photo and your magic elixir, I mean.”
“Oh, right.” Celeste had been broken out of some internal train of thought as she watched Phanuel. She shuffled around some newspapers and took a seat across from the Angel. “At that meeting, you had mentioned performing an exorcism.”
The brunette was silent for a beat as she mulled her next words over. “It got me thinking...Exorcism is sort of a form of healing, as well as cleansing. What if you wanted to do that to, say, a large gathering of people? But not trying to get rid of a demon, per se, but more like negative energy?”
“I suppose,” the blonde held the towel in one hand and kept it pressed against her brow. “I mean, it depends on the words, doesn’t it? That was… tailored specifically for a possession. It could work. Pretty sure it could work. I’d need more context first.”
“I want to dismantle my family’s cult.” Celeste decided the direct approach was the best.
“Oh. Is that all?”
She squeezed the towel, rivulets of water dripping down her temples to her cheeks. “That’s a lot trickier. I mean, negative energy is one thing, but we’re talking about people who specifically believe in something. It’s like fringe religion. They’re wrong, and they could be hurting themselves or others, but it’s what they think is right and while you could dispel the negative energy around them, they’re just gonna be happier bigots.”
Celeste frowned and leaned back against her seat. That had been disappointing to hear, but after a moment’s consideration, she quickly regrouped. “So, I’d have to find a way to take away that belief…” The brunette drummed her fingers against the cloth surface. “Or make them see the truth.”
“Essentially.” The buzz in Phanuel’s head was lessened now, replaced with the drumming of Henry’s fingers on the chair. She’d take it. “That’s how cults work, they make you believe in something specific to the exclusion of everything else. There are people who counteract brainwashing. But they usually concentrate on one person at a time. People in a group, their belief is bolstered and harder to break through.”
“One at a time.” Even thinking about that exhausted Celeste. But maybe it didn’t have to be everyone. Maybe it just needed to be one. She looked back up at Phanuel.
“There’s something I read about, and...I came to ask you about it.” The topic was a sensitive one, and Celeste broached the topic accordingly. “There’s something about you that can be extremely useful in white magic. And you know that I want to help people. I’d be using it for good.” She was like a child about to ask permission from a parent.
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” the Angel responded.
Celeste looked up at the ceiling. “Can I have a few of your feathers?”
“Just how many are a ‘few’?”
The younger woman smiled apologetically. “Maybe like two...definitely no more than three.” She nodded emphatically. “Okay, so three.” Celeste bit her lip and waited for Phanuel to kick her out of the trailer.
Phanuel leaned forward, elbows on her knees, head in her hands. It was difficult to think clearly.
She had no reason to doubt the brunette’s sincerity. “It’s a big ask. Yes, they’ll grow back, but they’re a part of me.”
The room grew silent as the Angel pondered the brunette’s request.
“Three. No more. And you don’t get a do-over. If this doesn’t work out, you’ll need to find another way. And you owe me a favor, which you won’t refuse.”
“I wouldn’t refuse a favor for you,” Celeste answered quickly. It took a moment for it to sink in that Phanuel was saying yes to her request. The brunette leapt to her feet in happiness. “I’m always around to help, if you ever need it,” she began. “If you need more hangover cure, or anything else. I could help you clean, for example.” The brunette gestured to their surroundings.
“I know this was a tall order, and thank you. You won’t regret it.”
“This is gonna hurt.” Phanuel reached under her bandages and gently, carefully, plucked three feathers from her left wing. With each tug, she winced. A tear trickled down her cheek, but she didn’t make a sound. She held them out to Celeste.
Celeste hadn’t realized how much it would hurt the Angel, and there was a pang of regret, even as she removed a container to carefully house the feathers. “I’m sorry, I…” The brunette trailed off, looking away.
“Again, anything you need,” she reiterated. “I’m here.”
“Do some good with it, Henry.”
“I will.” That was Celeste’s sole intent. She hovered over Phanuel’s chair, debating whether to do something or not. She thought of the same images that had flooded her mind when Sam had handed her the orb at Curiosities, but removed any tinge of pain or uncertainty. She pictured a landscape swathed in soft light and happiness, as much as the brunette could conjure happiness. With that in her head, Celeste reached out and placed a gentle hand over the Angel’s.
Well, that was odd.
Phanuel felt the contact, but the reading was muted, as if she were looking through the wrong end of a looking glass. She could feel Celeste’s intent, but it was out of focus.
’Must be a product of the hangover.’ “Use them in good health.”
“You should rest,” Celeste murmured, removing her hand. “And, you know...lay off the sauce for a while, maybe.” She gave Phanuel a wan smile.
“I’m going to get out of your hair, then. You know where to find me. I’m at the El Rey.” With that, she turned and exited the trailer. It was awkward, maybe, but the brunette hadn’t been sure of what else to do. Once outside, she gave another glance to those strange plants.
After a second of hesitation, she stooped, plucking one of the seedlings from the ground and depositing it into one of the empty pouches she kept on her person at all times, and tucked it into her bag before walking off.